Changing the World Read online

  When the snow was gone, and Navar’s labor was no longer needed to help put the first crop into the fields, Captain Arwulf—he who had charge of the scouts now that they numbered a whole company of men and women—summoned Navar and asked him to command an expedition to scout the great forest to the western edge of the lands Valdemar’s people had claimed. “See what we can use there,” Captain Arwulf said, “and if there are any people who have claimed that land. I’ll send a mapmaker with you. We need to know more about our neighbors.”

  It was a mark of King Valdemar’s new teachings—for he had chosen as the motto of his kingdom the words “No one way is the true way”—that Navar felt that he might refuse this order did he think it was a task beyond his ability; and true it was that never had he commanded men and women in the field, though he was well liked by his fellow soldiers. Navar’s skills had always been set to tasks where he must only command himself. Yet it was a needful task and one he did not think beyond his ability, and so he asked merely to choose those who would accompany him. And to this request Captain Arwulf made no demur, saying only that there was no better mapmaker than the one he had already chosen.

  Almost did Navar reconsider his audacity at accepting such a great undertaking when, on the very day he and his dozen chosen soldiers were to depart, he first met young Doladan. The lad seemed to him hardly older than Prince Restil, and he frankly admitted—after he’d fallen off his mule while attempting to adjust his cloak, greet Navar, and repack his saddlebags all at the same time—that he’d never held sword or bow in his life. In the old Valdemar, he’d been the Master Gardener’s chief assistant, and when several of Navar’s soldiers dared to laugh at this admission, he pointed out hotly that the baronial gardens had covered several hundred acres, and without detailed mappings of what was planted where—and what should be planted where—the gardens would have been a wilderness.

  “I wouldn’t be so high and mighty if I were you,” Doladan said fiercely. “If Mistress Karilgrass weren’t here now to tell everyone what plants were safe to eat, you louts would have had a leaner winter than you did.”

  “True enough,” Navar said, for the beginning of a journey was no time to set a grudge. “We’ve all become more than we were in the last year and more. And if you’ll oblige me by learning a bit of swordwork, why, Torimund and Felara here will learn a bit of gardening.”

  Doladan, Navar realized, was quite beautiful when he laughed.

  They followed the river north and west, for rivers were natural roads, and any threat to come to Haven would come more swiftly along the water road. At each stop, Doladan sketched tirelessly, filling page after page with detailed notes, and taking samples of plants and leaves as well.

  Navar had hoped to be back in Haven by high summer, but the expedition took longer than he had planned, for the forest proved to be dark and dangerous, full of twisted creatures. When Torimund died, Doladan said angrily that that the name of the forest should be “pelagir,” a word that meant “danger” in one of the Old Tongues, and Pelagiris Forest it became: Forest of Dangers. But if Torimund was the first casualty of the journey, he wasn’t the last: they lost six of their twelve soldiers before they won their way home again with the first frost nipping at their heels.

  When he and his company staggered back into Haven with the maps and surveys they had paid for with the lives of half their comrades, Navar was shocked to see that the settlement he’d left—crude wooden huts and houses—had been transformed through equal application of magecraft and sweat to a city that rivaled—

  Well, perhaps not High Ashuel, the Eastern Empire’s capital. But certainly one of the smaller cities in the empire they had left behind them.

  And, well, King Valdemar and Queen Terilee and Lord Beltran, now King Valdemar’s Chancellor, were all mages, and mages could work miracles overnight where mere men would require moonturns of backbreaking work. But Haven now was larger than Navar had ever thought it could be—and as much stone as wood.

  “I am so glad to get home,” Doladan said. He gestured at the young city before them. “And only look, Nav! Walls—and roofs—and floors! And neither of us had to build any of them! We’ll sleep warmer this winter than last, I’ll wager.”

  “If we can find our own roofs by first snow,” Senard grumbled from behind them. “I hope they’ve built barracks as well as all these houses.”

  “I hope they’ve built a tavern!” Rusama chimed in. She glanced across the stubble of the fields. “Good harvest means good beer.”

  Navar let their chatter wash over him as he brooded on the sight before him. Seeing Haven flourishing so impossibly, Navar realized his greatest fear had never been for some future that he would not live to see but of a present that he most certainly would: if this fragile new kingdom grew past the ability of the great and the good to watch over it, who would defend it from Soferu’s plots? Hardorn had ever been the empire’s enemy. It would be a great coup for the Iron Throne to gain a foothold on Hardorn’s western border.

  He feared that day had already come. Who was governing the city? Who was making sure that the right decisions were being made?

  No matter what else might happen in Haven, Harleth and Arwulf were competent soldiers, and so there were sentry riders set beyond the far bounds of the town. One of them came to direct Navar’s little company to the new stables and barracks and to tell Navar where he could find Captain Arwulf. He’d hoped to make his report there and be released from his duties, for it was Doladan’s report that King Valdemar would wish to hear, not his. But Arwulf had merely grunted when he presented himself and told him that General Harleth would want to see him at the palace.

  “Not a patch on what it’s going to be,” Arwulf said. “But well enough for now. Praise the All that Valdemar’s prayers were answered.”

  “Prayers?” Doladan asked, his eyes bright and shining as he drank in all the changes that their moonturns away from Haven had wrought.

  “You’ll see,” Arwulf said.

  Haven had been no more than a mean scrabble of lean-to shelters and tattered tents when Navar had ridden out. Now, though the air was filled with the scent of new-cut timber and the buildings that greeted their eyes as they walked in the direction Arwulf had indicated were all sharp and raw and new, they were sturdy and well-made. Perhaps Master Rilbard had built the sawmill that he’d talked of all the winter, for Navar could think of no other means by which so much good cut timber could have been procured in so short a time. There were even sturdy plank walkways edging the wide packed-earth streets, and that would be a great boon come the rains. The air was filled with the sound of hammering and sawing—and with the laughter and song of children as well. When Haven was being designed, on the dark days of winter when little else could be done but plan and wait for spring, parks and playing grounds had been thought as necessary to Haven as common gardens and proper drainage.

  Soon enough they reached the far end of the city and what would someday be the royal palace.

  For now, the palace barely deserved the name, though it was grand enough, considering their circumstances: a three-storied manor house of mage-cured wood rivaling, if not the baronial palace Valdemar had left behind, then certainly a manor house of one of his more prosperous underlords. It stood in the middle of a vast open parkland upon the banks of the river Terilee, its fields straddling the river and stretching away to forest left yet uncleared. Beyond it, where gardens might otherwise have stood, stonemasons had outlined the footings of what Navar could tell would become the permanent palace, and many workers were coming and going in good cheer. It was a busy place, full of industry, with children watching the goings-on with interest.

  Navar could see several horses standing free in the fields on the river’s far banks, their coats brilliant white and shining in the autumn sun. He wondered if wild horses had been found by another scouting party, tamed, and brought back for breeding stock. His group had seen nothing of the sort on their travels, either in the northern val
ley or in the heart of the forest that had tried so hard to claim their lives with its menace, but Captain Arwulf had surely sent others in directions other than to the west.

  General Harleth, when found, proved to be one of the men hauling stone for the palace’s foundation, stripped bare to the waist and sweating even in the cooler air of late fall. One of the bright-shining horses was lingering nearby, watching the proceedings with what Navar would swear was an assessing look on its face, and Navar revised his earlier thought uneasily. This was surely no new-tamed wild horse—its every line spoke of quality and breeding. Navar had friends among Valdemar’s ostlers, and in his many visits to the former-baronial stables he had never seen horses with such a glow to them.

  When he gained Harleth’s attention, Navar gave his report upon the spot as tersely as possible, for he could feel Doladan vibrating beside him with excitement. Doladan had learned some measure of grace during their travels, but his ebullience was undimmed.

  Before Doladan could move to spread out his pages of sketchings on a stone-wall-in-progress to show them off, Harleth snickered at some thought Navar could not guess and clapped Doladan on the back. “Come,” he said, shifting his gaze to Navar to include him in the invitation. “The king and queen and the Heralds’ Council are eager to hear your report.”

  The phrasing made Navar wince inwardly, for Harleth had never before seemed the type of man to take it upon himself to speak for the baron-turned-king. Heralds’ Council? Had the worst of Navar’s fears come to pass, and King Valdemar had been influenced into letting power pass from his control so quickly? And who, of the men and women who had been moving to secure their position in Valdemar’s new kingdom, had been named to such a governing council, and how had Valdemar judged them worthy? How could any man be satisfied that he had properly taken the measure of another without resorting to the same mind- magic coercion the empire had used so freely and King Valdemar had decried so fiercely? Had King Valdemar set principle aside for expedience?

  Have we fallen so far, so quickly?

  Doladan either did not notice or did not think General Harleth’s words troublesome, for he simply fell into step beside Harleth as the general reached for his discarded tunic and set out for the manor house. Navar would have chosen rather to wash and change his travel-stained clothes before showing himself before the king, but Harleth seemed to see no reason for delay. He led them straight to where King Valdemar and Queen Terilee were holding court, and the moment their small party stepped into the salon, Valdemar rose and held out his hands. “Welcome back!” he said, in his warm and booming voice that always inspired such trust and confidence in those who heard it. “We had feared you lost!”

  “Not lost,” Navar said, his mind unquiet, looking around to see who was in the room. He recognized but half of the two dozen men and women present, and his heart sank further at the sight of so many, for how could so many have fairly been judged? It seemed frighteningly likely that Valdemar had chosen but one or two or five, and they had filled his court with their own partisans, for of those he recognized, half were those he would not think to name to any council he would be comfortable obeying, and he could name at least as many more who he would have thought should be present and weren’t.

  Juuso Beltran was there, of course, now King’s Chancellor, and young Prince Restil, now entering his fifteenth year, and those were to be expected. But so was Mistress Emolde, who had been wetnurse to both Restil and Dethwyn, his elder brother. Lorton, one of Valdemar’s journeyman- mages, was present, but not Blydel or Imryn, the others. Mistress Karilgrass, the chief gardener and Doladan’s old master, was present, but Captain Arwulf was not.

  It was not that Navar thought all of those present were poor choices. How could he? He did not know them all. Yet it seemed that these people were King Valdemar’s chosen Council. How could so many who had joined the exodus as it proceeded have risen to such power?

  “Tell us everything,” King Valdemar urged. “What of your travels? Is the danger containable?”

  And that was a curious thing to hear from the King, for Navar had mentioned the loss of his men and women to General Harleth, but he had not had time to speak of it here. Perhaps King Valdemar had been able to intuit the danger from the fact that their return had been so delayed.

  Or perhaps King Valdemar was listening to his mind even now.

  Navar blanked his face and did all he could to bury his thoughts, reporting briefly on what they had found. In contrast to Navar’s taciturnity, Doladan chattered so energetically it seemed he scarce drew a breath. His maps were passed from hand to hand, and each man and woman who saw them had some thoughtful thing to contribute. Lorton pointed out a range of hills that might prove to contain iron for mining; a woman whose name Navar did not know spoke of the possibility that the valley to the north might be suitable for a farming settlement in another year or several. Navar could fault none of the questions or observations made, but neither could he shake the sense of unease that surrounded him like a cloak’s mantle.

  He listened carefully, and he watched even more carefully, for since the day that Captain Harleth had taken him from the ranks of Valdemar’s household guard and set him the task of going forth and gathering information—not spying, never that, for spying was quite another matter than simply walking over the land and seeing what was to be seen—Navar had been able to see all before him and remember what he saw. And as he watched Doladan’s speech before Valdemar’s new Council, Navar saw a great riddle lying at the Council’s heart.

  It was not merely that they spoke of sharing Doladan’s report with those absent, for any might do that, or that they spoke names he did not know, for even now he did not know all the inhabitants of Haven. It was that they spoke of these others as if they were present now. Again and again he heard, “Ardatha says—” or, “Kyrith thinks—” and whoever they were—for those names, too, were strange to him—they were obviously held in high regard, for their advice was always heeded.

  Doladan would have willingly talked the sun out of the sky, so on fire was he to tell of all he had seen and learned, but at last King Valdemar broke off with a rueful laugh. “But Ardatha tells me I am being very rude to keep you standing and talking, when you are undoubtedly tired and thirsty and wish for nothing more than a hot meal and a clean bed. I am certain Juuso can see you lodged. Be certain, though, that we hope to hear more of your journey.”

  Even the most informal court was a court nonetheless. Navar said nothing as he and Doladan followed Lord Beltran from the salon, but when the doors had closed behind the three of them, he cleared his throat.

  “Meaning no disrespect, but I’d as soon go back to barracks. I’d be more comfortable there than in a palace.”

  Lord Beltran did not answer immediately. He seemed to be listening to words Navar could not hear, and whatever they were, he found them amusing. “Indeed, there have been many changes in Haven since you left us. I hope you will find them to your liking.”

  And if I do not? Navar wondered. “We’d thought the western lands were empty,” he said carefully. “It’s good to see we’ve found friends here. I saw their horses, I think, as I walked through the park.”

  To his surprise and consternation, Lord Beltran threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Horses!” he said, when he could draw breath again. “Oh, they have the look of horses—I grant you that—but the Companions are the answer to a prayer.”

  “Aren’t they horses?” Doladan asked, before Navar could make some polite demur to get the two of them out of there. Whatever madness had taken the new kingdom for its nursery, Chancellor Beltran was obviously its nurserymaid.

  Lord Beltran clapped Doladan on the shoulder, and Navar bristled with the helpless need to protect one who had become dearer than self in the past moonturns. “Come,” the King’s Chancellor said. “Let us share a cup of wine—or a stoup of new ale—and I shall tell you both of how fortune and all the good gods have smiled upon our kingdom.”


  The ale was good—and Beltran was no fool, for he provided bread and cheese as well. The food and drink went down Navar’s throat with more ease than the tale he was told.

  Their band of refugees had grown to twice its original size during their flight from the Eastern Empire. During Navar’s absence, the kingdom of Valdemar had grown again, for Valdemar’s legend had taken root, and all knew that the new king meant his land to be a haven of freedom tempered by law—one that would fall equally upon the shoulders of high and low, mage and commoner. Navar had heard the inevitable problems whispered about: that not merely law-abiding exiles and fugitives would flock to Valdemar’s banner, but every stormcrow and wolfshead and gallowglass that Velgarth held, men and women who would make of their refuge a sanctuary for lawlessness and depravity. In fact, many such had attempted to join them, seeking protection from well-deserved justice—only to find that they had leaped from the cooking pot into the cook-stove itself. And so, one spring night, when a new band of refugees had arrived, petitioning to become citizens of Valdemar, King Valdemar had prayed to all the gods and goddesses that his kingdom would be saved for all time from corruption such as he and his people had fled, so that Valdemar would never fear to be a haven for the innocent nor a judge of the wicked.

  His prayer had been answered—so Lord Beltran would have it—by the appearance (from a copse of woodland in the palace park) of a shining creature in the shape of a horse—save that its hooves were of shining silver and its eyes of deepest blue. These horses—or, as Lord Beltran would style them, Companions (for there were now nearly twenty of the creatures in Valdemar)—were able to speak directly into the minds of their Chosen, though not directly to any other. They were as smart as any man or woman but infinitely wiser and more good.